


To Soar Free

by S Melody (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Slash sex, Spoilers, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-14
Updated: 2007-10-14
Packaged: 2018-09-30 07:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10157162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/S%20Melody
Summary: A conversation in Dumbledore’s office, in a warm light and surrounded by bowls of sweets, leads Severus into recollections of darker matters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Pairing: Snape/Voldemort (also possible Snape/Dumbledore)

Author’s Notes: Set in the early summer before book 6. Started before I read book 7, so somewhat AU. Written to celebrate/mourn the ending of the series and the intriguing character that is Severus Snape.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I am making no profit from this story.

* * *

Looking at the wizard sitting calmly before him, Severus forced himself to maintain eye contact, despite a sincere wish to avert his gaze. Dumbledore’s eyes were such a bright blue, Severus noted; not for the first time. They evoked visions of expansive skies on the brightest of summer days; of pools of beautifully clear water, refreshing and welcoming to all. 

Such imaginings caused something inside of Severus to curl up tight. He clenched his stomach muscles and allowed no sign of his discomfort to show on his face, which he hoped was as impassive as Dumbledore’s appeared, though without the ever-present twinkle in the eyes. Severus had always had this reaction to Dumbledore, ever since he was a small boy of eleven, trying to hide his astonishment at his new surroundings; buildings, people, ghosts and all. It did not, therefore, take much effort to conceal his feelings now; much as the small boy he once was had already been an experienced dissembler before stepping over the threshold of Hogwarts for the first time. 

Severus took the proffered goblet of wine with a quick upturn of his lips that was more a general sign of acknowledgement than a smile. But Dumbledore knew Severus, to an extent the younger man had often tried to ascertain, and never showed that he was offended by the lack of response his bonhomie usually met with. 

“You have been thinking over the syllabi for your new post then, Severus?” Dumbledore said this with smiling features, something Severus recognised as a subtle dig concerning the years of conversations they had had in this very office regarding that particular post.

Severus nodded and took a sip of wine before speaking in a deep, steady voice. “I will mostly follow the dictates of the core textbooks for each year, but with a larger emphasis on practical defensive magic in the older years that I believe prudent considering,” he hesitated and, to disguise it, took another sip of wine, “considering recent events.”

“Quite,” agreed Dumbledore, emphatically. He paused and Severus shifted, putting the goblet down and folding his arms across his chest. “Unfortunately, my attempts to persuade dear old Horace to return have been, so far, fruitless. Do not worry though Severus! I still have one ace up my sleeve, or so I believe.” 

Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling again and briefly Severus wondered whether this was a direct result of Dumbledore’s ability to be right more than double the amount of time that any other person was, but then he recalled recent occasions when he had been proved right and the after-effect had left him far from ‘twinkling’. 

“I dearly hope you have more than one!” The abrupt statement surprised Severus almost as much as it did Dumbledore, who raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“Severus?”

Instead of replying immediately, Severus rose from the chair and moved to the thin line of shadow that adorned a wall of Dumbledore’s study. He glanced back at the chair he had been occupying, which was bathed in a wash of gentle, warm light. The same light infused Dumbledore’s features with a further radiance as he paused, waiting for the slim, darkly clothed man, who appeared to be inspecting the handsome bureau that rested by the western wall of his office for dust, to speak.

After a few moments, Severus did, though his eyes would not meet Dumbledore’s. “The Dark Lord,” the title lingered on his tongue with the mixture of sardonicism and slight reverence always present when he spoke of Voldemort to Dumbledore, “grows… frustrated. He has not yet spoken directly to me but,” his dark eyes finally flicked up to meet Dumbledore’s, “the mention of your name causes him to become more vexed than I have ever noticed before. It is as if he views you as his last great obstacle between eradicating the boy and achieving… achieving his desire.. his victory.”

“I understand, Severus,” and certainly, Dumbledore’s voice was replete with a resigned understanding. What shocked Severus, however, was that as he said this, Dumbledore walked over to Severus and squeezed the younger man’s hand in a gentle gesture Severus suddenly imagined was meant to comfort. 

Apart from his face and neck, his hands were the only bare flesh on show. The warmth; the pressure; the brush of Dumbledore’s soft, dry skin against his caused Severus to react as if he had just been paralysed.

It had been another hand gently ghosting over his, though with colder fingers and an almost preternatural smoothness, that Severus believed had pulled him onto that dark path all those years ago. There was something immediately repulsive, and yet strangely electrifying, about being touched by the Dark Lord, and Severus remembered physically trembling…

*****

The room was gloomy; a broken chandelier hung precariously from the yellowed ceiling and gave a sudden lurch to one side whenever the breeze from the slightly open window magnified, casting sudden and wild shadows that exacerbated Severus’ nervousness. 

It was too soon, too soon and too unexpected. Lucius had only resumed contact a few weeks ago, until then they had barely spoken after the older man had left Hogwarts. He was standing now in the darkened corridor, out of Severus’ sight behind the closed door that led into Severus’ temporary accommodation, but the image of his flaxen hair and the rich midnight blue velvet of his cloak, such a contrast to the drabness of his present surroundings, had stayed in Severus’ head. Severus wondered if this was his mind’s way of not dealing with the enormity attached to the figure standing before him.

Few people saw Voldemort up close these days. Of those that did, many did not live to give a description. Severus knew that, very soon, he could be joining that number of violent deaths and sinister disappearances. Apprehensive as he was though, the Half Blood Prince did not bow at the feet of any man, even this one, so Severus looked up to the alabaster features and serpentine, blood tinted eyes. He did not know whether to expect some unpleasant reprimand for such insolence but the Dark Lord merely met his gaze silently. Severus then felt an unfamiliar pressure in his head and suddenly his whole field of vision seemed to narrow until those startling, unsettling eyes were all he could focus on. He gasped and careened to one side to break the connection that had allowed Voldemort into his mind, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. 

“Interesting… interesting,” was all Voldemort said in response to this. He watched dispassionately as Severus straightened and gained control of his breathing, before commenting: “I have been informed that you are a wizard of uncommon intelligence. Would you deem such information accurate?” 

Severus’ eyes idly swept across his bedroom as he considered the question. But a part of him recognised that all Voldemort required was the truth.

“Yes,” he said in a steady voice, “I would.”

Voldemort nodded almost imperceptibly and gave a flick of his wrist. The open window closed with a gentle thud and its dark, moth-eaten drapes swept closed seemingly of their own accord. 

He spoke calmly, but intensely. “Our world needs people like you. Young wizards desirous of the chance to openly satisfy their curiosity regarding **all** aspects of our magical inheritance! Wizards like you, Severus, who do not avert their minds from the power our abilities can bestow upon us just because other individuals… older, weaker and so utterly **afraid** ,” as he spat the epithets out his face grew twisted, distorting the previously handsome, if rather stony, features, “rail at us as children about unspecified ‘dangers’. They seek to keep people like us ignorant, as I am sure you discovered at Hogwarts, that establishment supposedly dedicated to education!” At this the Dark Lord ceased speaking, and waved his wand leisurely about the room. Various books rose from the scattered piles that littered the small amount of floor space and other available surfaces, some worn with the edges of pages almost as dark as the tan leather of their covers, others evidently newer, but all with an array of ad hoc page markers. 

For one long, drawn out moment Severus imagined the books, some of which he had owned for years and had made more his own than the authors’, being ignited; their ashes gliding listlessly to the floor. His fingernails made deep imprints into the flesh of his palms. 

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and Severus forced himself not to react. 

Then, with a series of alternate bangs and thuds, and a few perturbed noises from some of the more voluble tomes, the books sailed across the room at Voldemort’s behest and fell to form a haphazard line at the bottom of the room’s outside wall.

“In a few short years, these books,” Voldemort gave them a belittling gesture, “will have become useless to you, and within each new book you manage to purchase or borrow you will only find the same desiccated strands of ‘approved’ knowledge.” Severus watched as Voldemort moved to close the gap between them, swallowing irregularly as the Dark Lord seemed to tower over him, despite little actual difference between their heights. The tone of Voldemort’s voice changed; it became deeper, more… seductive was the only word Severus could think to use. “But I can offer you the means and opportunity to know everything you ever wished to.” 

The close proximity of Voldemort threatened to overwhelm Severus. The power emanating from the wizard was almost tangible; the air around them seemed to effervesce with trepidation and reverence. To keep in control, Severus closed his eyes, and it was this moment Voldemort chose to trace his fingers over the smooth, vulnerable flesh of Severus’ inner wrist and down to impart an icy caress to his palm. The contact then disappeared, leaving Severus conflictingly alarmed as well as craving more. It was as if Voldemort had perceived, just by looking at him, how long it had been since another had touched him in such a meaningful way. Then, just as Severus was about to open his eyes and back away, his heightened hearing caught a whisper. 

“Let me teach you.”

Severus shuddered. He understood how much he stood to gain if he acquiesced. He opened his eyes and turned from Voldemort, and was then faced with the chaotic mound of books by the wall. Flickers of recent memories occupied his mind; yearnings and frustrations and, ultimately, the staid mundanity of his present life. The emptiness of an existence lacking any kind of real stimulation. He could not deny his misgivings regarding the part of Voldemort’s creed that had so far not been broached, but he could recognise the value of what the Dark Lord offered. He looked around the room he had survived in for the last year, glanced at the burns in the faded carpet, the stained walls, and the small desk covered with papers and the few coins that only served to remind Severus of the daily effort to cover the rent.

He had to choose to live.

He turned back to the patient figure, pale and darkly robed, so like Severus; but so magnificent too. 

“Yes.” His voice was quiet and soft, and he licked his lips and said more definitively, “Yes… please.” How long it had been since that particular word had left his mouth so beseechingly.

Voldemort nodded and Severus thought he caught a glimpse of a triumphant flash in the others’ eyes. Then Voldemort intoned deeply: “Then call me your Lord.”

***** 

Seemingly chastened by Severus’ rather startled reaction to this show of emotion, Dumbledore returned to his desk. He smiled but Severus thought he could detect a hint of sadness in the small gesture.

“I do not think Voldemort will challenge me directly,” he stated.

“Agreed.” Severus went to expand upon this and then stopped himself. His fears were not yet proven and he hoped they would remain that way. But still the image of the boy’s aristocratic face, pale and drawn, stripped of its accustomed arrogance, fretted at Severus’ thoughts. He knew too well what had become of some of Voldemort’s other young recruits. Frowning, he decided to change the subject. “Did you really ask me here just to talk about lessons?”

At this, Dumbledore gave a weary sigh and seemed to hesitate, picking up a small bowl of strangely shaped, magenta coloured sweets. Severus raised an eyebrow in a gesture that he hoped would communicate his sheer contempt for such an offering. Looking completely unruffled, Dumbledore returned the bowl to its original spot. Then his face became grave.

“I wondered if you would do me the favour of remaining at Hogwarts for a few days?”

Severus blinked. “I am expected to be present elsewhere.” He did not need to specify by whom.

“I know Severus, I know, but equally I am sure you understand that I would not ask if I did not feel I needed to.” Dumbledore employed a soft tone of voice that magnified the firm sincerity present in his expression.

Scowling at the expert manipulation, Severus asked, “May I ask why?”

The twinkle returned. “Certainly you may, Severus! As I may not answer.”

“Why?” The single word came out as a deep, protracted thrum; a tone of voice normally reserved for intimidating those Severus saw as intellectually inferior.

“I am about to embark upon an… errand, of sorts, and I believe I may require your aid if I am successful."

Immediately, Severus’ curiosity fixated upon this abstruse statement but age and experience prompted him to hold his tongue. “I will arrange it.” And without waiting for any kind of dismissal, he turned elegantly on the spot and began to exit the study.

“Severus.” He stopped abruptly, but pivoted reluctantly, and was surprised to see Dumbledore standing in front of the desk. Severus had not heard him move. “You do know that I appreciate all that you do for me?” It was said with an emotive gravitas but this did not stop Severus viewing it as a strange statement on several counts. 

“Ultimately, I believe we have agreed in the past that I am doing it for myself.” He did not know why he said it. He did not want this kind of conversation. Memories of such conversations weighed heavily on him now and he was suddenly afflicted by an almost claustrophobic urge to flee. 

*****

He had been inside for a while but occasional drops of rain still fell from his hair and clothing to make lone marks on the otherwise pristine carpet, attesting to the inclemency of the weather. It only added to his feeling that he was somehow sullying the place with his presence. In his darkest moments, one of which he was definitely in now, he felt that his presence, his existence, sullied the world. 

Severus shook his head slightly. The lack of food and rest over the last couple of weeks was catching up to him; he felt like his mind was immersed in a sinister fog, seeking to pull him under… 

Heat on his cool cheek; a voice by his ear, and his eyes snapped open once more. His vision was blurred though and, therefore, all he saw was an indistinct shape hovering in front of him. A moment or so later, Severus was able to register that the shape was Dumbledore and that he was quietly speaking.

“… what we can do…” Another muttered word followed, one that Severus’ mind could not register accurately, but he sensed its power and then a wave of sudden warmth flowed over him and he could delude himself no longer that the shivers that assaulted his frame were completely due to the sodden cold.

He struggled up to a standing position, supporting much of his weight on the wall behind him. The possibility that Dumbledore might kill him came to him, causing conflicting desires to war within him. Part of him wanted Dumbledore to do what he had not been able to, but another part of him, the last vestiges of his proud rationality perhaps, wanted something else; something Severus had intuitively felt Dumbledore could help him acquire. 

Dumbledore advanced towards him and some kind of primeval instinct shot a bolt of energy through Severus’ body, but the hands that manoeuvred one of Severus’ arms across attenuated shoulders and supported his body were now wandless. Smiling grimly, Severus acknowledged that he should have known Dumbledore would not kill him, not immediately at least, when Severus was still in possession of valuable information. 

Focusing nearly all of his energy on placing one foot in front of the other whilst not leaning too much on the aged wizard bearing him up, Severus only dimly noticed when the wall they were heading towards flickered and shimmered out of existence and they passed into a room that few knew of. He was lowered into a worn, yet comfortable armchair and then Dumbledore ensconced himself in a similar chair, set opposite to, and some feet away from, the one that Severus currently occupied. 

Dark eyes flicked cagily around the room, alighting on various paintings and some photographs and, most conspicuously of all, a rather splendid four poster bed. Perplexed, he shifted in his chair and Dumbledore seemed to recognise his question. 

“I have taken you into this castle because it is the one place I feel sure we are safe from your… associates, but,” and as he said this, Dumbledore’s expression hardened, taking on the visage of the fearsome dueller Severus knew him to be, “it is not lightly that I allow a Death Eater so close to the young pupils here. Until I can make other arrangements, you will remain in this room, hidden from the rest of the school and without your wand.” 

Though the thought of being left so defenceless caused rivulets of anxiety to run up his insides to his heart, quickening its pace, Severus nodded, accepting his restraints and awaiting further punishment. 

This came when Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and removed his half moon spectacles so that his vivid, bright blue eyes bored into Severus.

“Now, tell me about your crimes.”

*****

Refusing to let Dumbledore see any reaction to his comment, Severus swept out of the study and down the spiralling stairs, his cloak leaving a parting caress on each of the carved stone steps as he went. He gave a cursory look in each direction as he entered the corridor but Hogwarts was about as deserted as it ever was, all of the students having left for the summer. 

Reducing the pace of his strides, Severus aimed for his quarters in the dungeon. The quiet darkness would be soothing and he yearned for something to distract him from his anxieties and the memories that kept overwhelming him. Every time he had entered Dumbledore’s office in the years he had taught at Hogwarts he had been afflicted with the uncomfortable feeling that the walls still resonated with the shame, fear, anger and bitter tears that told the story of his betrayal of the dark. His humourless laugh echoed in the empty, underground corridors as Severus mused on the irony of his constant quest for darkness in the castle when he spent nearly every waking minute toiling for its banishment elsewhere. 

There was a bright flash of movement in the corner of Severus’ field of vision and his feet and breathing ceased immediately, the muscles in his right hand twitching with the urge to grasp his wand. A hysterically jubilant chuckle sounded from the passageway to Severus’ left however and he realised it was just Peeves fleeing from the scene of some mischief. About to continue on towards his rooms, something made Severus turn his head to the stone wall he had paused by and he realised he was standing almost directly underneath the carved stone protuberance that acted as one of the markers telling all traversers of the hallway that they had entered the realm of Salazar Slytherin. Most referred to it as the gargoyle but Severus knew that its sculptor had meant no fantastic grotesquerie; it was in fact a completely realistic depiction of the startling rictus of someone being tortured to death. 

Severus generally tried to forget it existed, pretending there was no command from his subconscious to keep his gaze firmly fixed ahead whenever he swept along this particular passage, because whenever he looked at it it merged with Severus’ memories and came alive, inhuman screams issuing from its gaping mouth. Such sounds surrounded Severus now and some part of him that he had thought already dead, sacrificed to his previous master, shrivelled further. His footsteps could now be heard clearly as he moved swiftly on, his boots scuffing the ground; the mark of his frustrated haste. He mentally cursed Dumbledore for making him stay in the castle and for his concerned understanding… for the piercing blue eyes that could penetrate Severus’ defences and leave him almost frantic with the urge to retreat. Not lessening his pace, he reflected that he had run from a master who had sought to destroy his humanity, only to flinch from the wholehearted attempts of his new master to bolster and lay evident those embers of humanity that Severus had fought so fiercely to keep.

It was his sudden stillness, a stillness that left him almost off-balance, after the thud and clang of the door shutting and bolting itself behind him that made Severus realise he had reached his rooms without being able to recall the concluding part of his journey. Cursing himself now, Severus flung his cloak and boots across the room violently until they impacted on the stone floor, the arms of the cloak silently outheld like a corpse destined to display a living creature’s last wish for a connection outside of itself.

Turning away from this, it was with a sickly weariness that Severus laid down on the bed. He lay back and idly contemplated the jerking, flickering patterns on the ceiling as a candle burned down to its last swath of wax. The substance of his thoughts rested on the matter of what excuse he could give for staying longer at Hogwarts than the Dark Lord wished him to. An answer was not forthcoming however, not one suitable for Severus to stake Voldemort’s perception of his loyalties on anyway, and Severus rolled on to his side with a quiet sigh. The pale cloth under his skin was comforting with its gentle coarseness but, perversely, Severus’ thoughts strayed to the hallowed place they often did when circumstances led him to a sleepless repose. This was one reminiscence that never troubled him in the stark light of Dumbledore’s study. Only in this close, intimate stillness could he relive it… his fevered forehead brushing against cool dark sheets; searing breath against his neck… His most treasured, and most despised, memory.

*****

It had all started with that touch of his hand. Voldemort, Severus believed, did not usually yearn for any physical consummation of the bond of power between him and his devotees, despite what Bellatrix and others might hint at or secretly desire as they bent willingly to his power in other ways. But control and power were the currencies Voldemort worked with and he was too clever a wizard not to appreciate some of the magic of touch, of physical closeness and connection. Moreover, he had realised something fundamental about Severus in the way the younger man had reacted to that seemingly casual (though of course nothing Voldemort did was ever _that_ ) brush of his hand.

Whatever Voldemort’s true motives, there they were. It almost looked sickeningly romantic, Severus thought, glancing at the thick flakes of snow gracefully pirouetting to the frozen ground outside and feeling his naked chest washed with the warmth of the strong fire. If, that was, one did not perceive the magical bindings on Severus’ wrists and the irreparably twisted soul of the wizard standing calmly behind him.

Voldemort elegantly lowered himself to kneel behind Severus and cool hands, their skin so pale and flawless they could only be described as inhuman, grasped Severus’ shoulders. Severus’ breath caught and he lowered his head, attempting to hide the shudder that sped through him from the man now so near to him. Once again, his wine-numbed mind struggled to recall what had brought the two of them here alone, so far from the noise and press of people at Malfoy Manor; what words or gestures they had used to indicate this to each other. For Severus could not deny that despite his vulnerability, despite the sheer magnitude of the situation and the presence behind him, that when the shudder passed and he breathed relatively freely once more, he leaned back receptively into the touch of the darkest wizard that had ever lived. He felt as if he had settled, finally and firmly, into the nameless place he had yearned for all his life.

As drunk on… everything… as he was, Severus felt every touch, movement and caress; every brush of hair and every drip of blood, as vividly as if he had set out to record them with wide, eager eyes and a sober mind. After a time, Voldemort propelled them to the large bed, the only piece of substantial furniture in the room. It appeared, with its black silken sheets and velvet bedecked posts, to have been prepared entirely for this occasion. His mind reeling, Severus wondered if indeed it had been.

With Voldemort bearing over him, darkly handsome, his teeth and eyes flashing, Severus arched up his hips and keened softly at the friction and answering heat he was met with. Elsewhere his Lord’s flesh was still strangely cool to Severus’ touch, but here at least Voldemort’s body showed some of the passion that was affecting Severus so. One of Voldemort’s cool hands closed possessively around Severus’ shaft but this did nothing to reduce the young man’s fervour. A beautiful pressure was rising in Severus’ body and as his eyes slipped closed he gasped.

“My Lord!” 

They were the first words that had been spoken for some time yet they seemed only to enhance the thickness of the atmosphere around the two bodies undulating on the sheets.

Voldemort’s reply was a hissed but ardent “My servant!” and, as he sank his teeth deeply into Severus’ neck, the young man arched his back for the last, tremulous time and reached the apex of his ascent. His eyes were wide open and the resounding image he had was of the rising of the blood in Voldemort’s eyes just before he spread the quivering legs of his servant and took him, burying himself in Severus with one powerful thrust. Severus cried out silently; the sensations were too overwhelming and he could not begin to stop himself drifting out of consciousness. As his head fell back onto the pillow and his vision darkened, all he could hear was the Lord’s serpentine exclamation of completion. The sound splintered his remaining cognition, hastening his collapse, and his body rested limply on the sheets, his eyes and mind burning deliriously with the sound that testified to the effect he had had on the wizard he so revered. He believed he might have slept the hours he did with a smile on his face. 

When he woke though, just before dawn when the room’s only light came from the glowing detritus of the fire, with his mind immediately fixated on the night’s events, he shivered as something cold and insidious uncoiled inside of him. He stumbled off the bed and its stained sheets and landed clumsily on his knees on the smooth stone floor. His body pulsed all over with the marks of another’s possession of him. His relief that there was no sign of Voldemort’s presence in the vicinity was so profound he had to clamp down on a sob. Confusion colouring his features, he rose and rushed over to the place where his heavy cloak lay discarded on the floor and wrapped it around himself. It was not so much the warmth or covering that gave him the little bit of comfort that resulted from the action, but rather the feel of his wand, resting against his ribs where it had been tucked inside the folds of material. Severus gratefully let his rationality take over, watching himself performing several perfunctory cleaning spells almost as if it was another person that removed as many of Voldemort’s brands that he could find.

It was only when Severus stood at the door of the room, fully clothed and moving somewhat more confidently, that this enforced lack of free thought vanished and his hand hovered without touching the handle. A gilded mirror hung some feet away and Severus glanced at his reflection. The same figure stared back at him that always had; jagged and unappealing. He marvelled at himself now that he had ever expected something like this to change him for the better. He had given himself away, submitted **willingly** to another’s predomination. How un-Slytherin he mused, switching his gaze from the mirror to the carved mahogany before him.

A sudden fit of fear seized him. He dug his nails into the door, his head flicking round violently to the mirror once more. He saw his face, paler than a second ago, his eyes wide with alarm, his throat moving erratically. Yet seeing this very image of a man alive with fear calmed him. He fixed his shoulders and let a mask more impenetrable than his Death Eater visage settle over his features as he opened the door and walked through the house under the cover of shadows and the dimness of the nascent dawn. The face he had feared to see when he looked in the mirror tugged mercilessly at his thoughts; his face… almost… in a feminine form, but older, lined and drawn with more cares than mere age. Lines that told of troubled years, of a free mind subdued, of defeat. As Severus apparated to his lonely rooms, a disquiet that would only grow from now on settled upon him. He had thought his presence in Voldemort’s circle would see him invested with the strength and power he needed to be free of lesser men, yet sitting in the armchair of his small living room, surrounded by books and relics of the darkest magics, he struggled to feel little better than he had as a student, defensively spitting acrid words at the grinning faces of Potter and Black. Adrift in indecision, Severus turned to the only refuge he had and as the morning’s sun rose finally, its rays cascading through the quiet cobbled streets around Severus’ home, it found the young man reading.

*****

As it always did, reliving the memory made a terrible rage rise up in Severus, leaving his fingers aching with the urge to do something. He stalked bitterly around his bedroom. Letting himself drift back to that moment was something he flinched from, but still he did it voluntarily. The occasion seemed to epitomise his errors, a legion of which he could mentally list and indeed often did as a kind of galvanising self-flagellation. His attraction to Voldemort and his knowledge was neither the first nor, regrettably, the last of the errors on that blood-splattered list, yet Severus identified it as the one tempting morsel that had… his mind stumbled over the words ‘sealed his fate’. Severus tended to dismiss the idea of a predestined path as a refuge for the weak and indecisive; something incontrovertibly dangerous to the mindset he needed to maintain for his duplicitous role. The constant tenuousness of a life that he often likened to having to jump, silently and invisibly, between sheets of the thinnest glass seemed to him to disprove the possibility that he was fated to be a spy. Yet there was a touch of something like destiny to that moment.

Letting his fury abate as much as possible, Severus sat back down on the bed, knowing he should focus now on trying to rest. Seemingly out of nowhere, Albus’ words of earlier came back to him. ‘You do know that I appreciate all that you do for me?’ He knew the older man valued the bond that had developed between them but Severus also recognised, every time he looked into Albus’ warm and sparkling eyes, that Albus would never realise that Severus did not do the things he did out of any desire to please his Headmaster. Still as secretive and as defensive as he had ever been, Severus felt more comfortable knowing that the true reason for his actions lay hidden from both his masters. Wreathed in paleness and sable as he was, Severus knew only he could sense the blistering, crimson need that, at times, seemed to be the only impetus that kept his heart pumping. 

He lay down, more contented and feeling able to give in to the drab exhaustion that trailed him day-by-day. Yet though his breathing became even and his body rested, Severus’ mind still sung with his need to be free.


End file.
